


The Tale of Prince Yuuri

by japansace



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, Feudal Japan, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Elements, Once Upon a Time Yuri on Ice Zine, inspired by The Tale of Princess Kaguya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japansace/pseuds/japansace
Summary: Deep in a bamboo grove on the edge of a village where nothing ever happens, a little prince is born.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 22
Kudos: 113
Collections: Once Upon A Time (The Yuri On Ice fairytale zine)





	The Tale of Prince Yuuri

**Author's Note:**

> The time has finally come where I can release this piece I did for the YOI fairy tale zine out to the public! I hope you all enjoy it~ It's weird to look back at, as I wrote most of this while I was abroad in Europe, and that feels _ever_ so long ago.

_“It will only be a short time, my love.”_

_Yuuri did not know time. He could not feel. The moon was all he had ever known._

_“You will hardly have the chance to miss me.”_

_Yuuri knew no fear, no sadness, nor pain; but the mere mention of “missing” had dread piercing his heart like a shooting star._

_“I will do this for you. I only hope you will wish to come back to me.”_

_How could he not, when Yuuri already wished it with all his might?_

_“I will see you soon, starlight.”_

_“Moon—“ But the vastness of space swallowed his words. He was hurtling then, towards a bright blue and green planet. His kimono unraveled, whipping behind him like a comet tail._

_He was light; he was dark; he was aurora borealis, spreading across the sky._

_Then he was cricket chirps and babbling brooks, settling snuggly into the soft, deep cradle of the earth._

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a bamboo cutter and his wife, living far out in the countryside. Their existence was humble, to be certain, but they survived well off their means, filling their household with love and laughter, the savory scents of rich foods, and the soft warmth of good company. They had a daughter who was nearly grown, well raised to be resourceful and independent, though she was sharp-tongued too; still, she never rose her voice to her parents and watched over the neighbors’ children like siblings, always keeping out a keen eye for trouble and utilizing her quick reflexes whenever they managed to find it.

Even so, fortunate though the bamboo cutter and his wife were, they still looked back on occasion, wondering if life would be all the more sweeter if the gods had seen it fit to permit them a son, as well as a daughter.

One day, the bamboo cutter, Toshiya, forged his way out into the forest as per usual, machete in hand. He knew his grove had become overgrown in the heavy rainfall of autumn, and as such, he went to work cutting down the stalks, lying them across the soil to come collect later when the weather turned more favorable.

Just as he was thinking of heading home, the bamboo cutter’s old eyes managed to catch a light coming from deep inside his forest: a soft, golden glow, unseasonable, if not impossible. He ventured closer, finding it to be originating from one of his bamboo.

It was a short stalk by all accounts—hardly a baby—but the light coming from it compelled him to lift the blade of his knife to it, taking a nick out of the stem to investigate further.

More light escaped from the stalk with the blow. Toshiya took the machete to it again; but this time, the entire top of the plant was knocked clean off. The bamboo cutter stumbled back with the intensity of what spilled forth, senses all at once inundated by a wave of _love, life, moon, stars, shadows, gone, lost, love?_

Then all was quiet.

After enough light had drained from the source to see, Toshiya crept forward on his hands and knees to inspect what had been left.

There, in the center of the bamboo, he found a little prince: dressed in regalia, silken kimono swaddled around his cheeks and chin. At Toshiya’s gasp, the tiny thing lifted his head to observe the bamboo cutter, smiled, then yawned into his sleeve, falling to his side to take a well-deserved rest.

Toshiya couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He went to lift the prince, then thought better of it and wiped his hands of dirt first. The little thing was barely enough to cover his entire palm, but he held him with all the weight and reverence such a being deserved, shuffling out of the forest to bring him back to his wife and child.

The glow coming from the prince dimmed as they went, tapering off until he merely appeared to be a doll: a soft plaything, if not an extremely detailed one.

“Oh, what a lovely baby.”

Entering the family home, Toshiya was stunned by his wife’s remark. “He’s a prince,” Toshiya said, trying to muster up some conviction. “A forest spirit, I think. He’s going to grow up to be a prince for certain.”

Hiroko made a face, lifting the prince from her husband’s grasp. “Are you sure? He looks just like a sweet little baby to me.”

As if hearing her, the prince grew to a proper size: gaining length and girth, pudgy where he wasn’t pudgy before. His hair became short and tousled, mouth opening to let out a gummy cry, his displeasure being made known at having grown so quickly in such a short amount of time.

Hiroko stumbled to keep her balance, the baby weighing her down now that he was well within proportion. She held him to her chest, cooed at him until he at last settled against her.

“I’m going to raise him,” she told her husband, bouncing the baby in her arms.

Toshiya startled. “But he’s a _prince._ ”

“He can be a prince later,” Hiroko assured, letting the comment blow over her as easily as the wind.

* * *

He didn’t stay small for long. In fact, the baby was toddling on chubby legs before the moon was newly full, endeavoring to chase after the other children of the village who shrieked with delight at his antics, ducking out of his way whenever he barreled towards them.

“Ka-tsu-don!”

It was what they called him, on account of his pudgy nature, his warm and homely feel. It had Toshiya a little red in the face, never losing sight of what he would eventually become, but the nickname stuck, like breading on a cutlet. So little Katsudon continued to trot after the other kids, becoming surer with every step.

When he began to talk rather than babble, the children led him out into the wilderness, pointing out all the wonders of the world: the cicadas chirping on their trees, the ladybugs on their leaves, butterflies slipping out of the folds of their chrysalis. The water gathered and flowed beneath their feet—dewdrops coming together, forming one—and the reeds swayed in the breeze.

“ _Birds and bugs and beasts,_

“ _grass and trees and flowers._

“ _Bring spring and summer,_

“ _winter and fall._ ”

The melody caught on the wind—circling in Yuuri’s ear—and he lent his own voice to the chorus, finding words where they previously weren’t before:

“ _Birds and bugs and beasts,_

“ _grass and trees and flowers._

“ _Teach me how to feel_.

“ _And if I hear you pine for me, I will return to you_.”

“I’ve never heard that version of the song,” Yuuko commented, coming to sit upon the grassy knoll where Yuuri had stopped in his tracks, looking up to the sky. “Did you make it up?”

“No.” Of that, Yuuri was certain.

“Weird Katsudon,” Takeshi huffed, taking up a stray branch to drag it along the dirt.

“Yes.” Yuuri shook his head, as though to lose the thought. “Weird Katsudon.”

Meanwhile, Toshiya was in his bamboo forest, scavenging once more. The ground had become sturdy and reliable in spring, the stalks piling up high on his back. But again, just as before, a golden light caught his attention as he was meant to leave, and he dutifully doubled back, more than eager to receive a second message from heaven.

This time he didn’t hesitate in striking the bamboo; and with his blow, gold pieces spilled from the stalk: an entire empire’s worth. He drew his hands through the metal, cool to the touch and shining like stars.

It must be a sign, Toshiya thought. He was delaying Yuuri’s fate in keeping him here, in not providing the life he deserved. So he scooped up the gold in large handfuls, already knowing full well what he must do with it.

He left—and returned. This time a rich man, swathed in starched fabrics and a palanquin in tow. Yuuri hid behind his mother’s leg at seeing the strangers that accompanied him, but Toshiya told him he needn’t be afraid. Otou-san had arranged for a big castle to be built—with pretty gardens and new clothes and fishes to eat all the way from the great sea—and oh, wouldn’t that be so nice, Yuuri-chan?

Yuuri blinked. Still clutching at his mother’s thigh, he looked behind him at the village: its birds and bugs, fields and streams, the hardworking folk there who patted him on the head and taught him songs. What would Yuuko and Takeshi think? Would he never see them again?

But his father was so certain, and his mother was smiling, albeit a bit sadly. Surely going couldn’t be a bad thing, if his parents thought it so grand…?

In the end, he saw his village shrink between the bamboo slats of the cart, rolling along the dirt as his sister leant into his shoulder, fighting off sleep. He watched and watched until he couldn’t anymore—the houses being swallowed, disappearing over the crest of a hill—and only then did he let his eyes rest, darkness being the only thing to occupy his time between birth and destiny.

* * *

When Yuuri awoke, he was alone. Sunlight was piercing through the screen of the palanquin, the sound of water sluicing through a suikinkutsu coming from somewhere beyond. With no one to tell him not to, he lifted a hand to the curtain of the cart and drew it back, bearing the whole of the outside to him.

He was met with the vision of an opulent garden, centered in the midst of palace. There were koi ponds and manicured sands, stone statues and outdoor decks, the grain of which was polished to a lustrous shine. He stumbled out of the carriage to one of these decks, standing to his tip-toes and rolling over the edge to gain access to it. Under his bare hands and feet, the boarding was smooth and soft as a sun-warmed pearl.

He found himself running across the floor, giggles streaming behind him in a similar fashion to his obi, the sash having come undone in his play. His hair was wild by the time he burst into a room through its shouji screen, falling into a sprawl before a husband and wife, dressed as extravagantly as the castle they no doubt reigned.

“Oh, so this is the little prince, huh?”

Yuuri scrambled to right himself. The one who had spoken was a third party he hadn't noted before: a small but imposing woman with the longest hair Yuuri had ever seen. She was laughing at him, he realized, from behind the sleeve of her floral-patterned kimono, and at this, his face began to burn with humiliation.

“Yuuri…”

It was then Yuuri came to realize his error. Because the pair he’d assumed the proprietors of the palace and nothing more were, in fact, his parents, smiling at him from behind their painted faces, their artful folding fans. Still reeling from the shock of it all, they informed him of his new station, introducing the woman present as “Minako-sensei,” a teacher to the elites who would school him in the arts of sophistication and etiquette.

And just like that, Yuuri was made to be a bird in a gilded cage.

* * *

Unquestionably, Yuuri was rather bad at being a prince. He made art class out of calligraphy and freeform out of lessons on the koto. But there was one thing, Minako found, that he was good at:  
  
Dancing.

He danced his best at night: a specter, a spirit in the twilight. All those who looked upon him were entranced, following the arch of his limbs, the delicate placement of his fingers and toes.

There was though, unfortunately, not much for Minako to teach; for anything Yuuri could learn from a master, he could just as easily pick up himself, from his natural ability. So dancing became a solitary practice, the moon acting as his only witness.

Then Yuuri was given his name, _officially_ : “Yuu” for “courage,” “ri” meaning “to win.” It was a heavy name to bear for anyone, let alone a boy barely a bamboo stalk high, but his parents seemed pleased with it, so he was as well. And in his honor, a banquet would be held.

“You mean I can’t dance for them?”

“Oh, _no_ , Your Highness. Your dancing is far too precious for any of these troglodytes.” Minako-sensei pushed him down from where he was trying to stand: feather-light fingertips to the shoulder. “Besides, we should let them guess. ‘Always leave them wanting more,’ yes?”

Yuuri didn’t want to let them guess. He wanted to _dance_. But he settled back into a seiza all the same, peering at the party from where he was positioned behind a slatted screen once more.

At some point, he fell asleep. He startled awake though soon after—at a boisterous laugh, rough and sordid enough to cut through even the most raucous of parties.

“I’ve heard your boy is quite the beauty, eh, Toshiya-san?”

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed, trying to make out the shapes behind the bamboo blind.

“Ah, you flatter us—”

“But is he really such a treasure? No one has been able to see him to confirm.”

“Well, that’s—”

“I doubt it!” another voice jibed. His words were slurred with drink, posture doubled with misplaced confidence. “I heard he’s just a peasant boy—just another village nobody! He’s no prince!”

“He _is_ a prince—”

“What did it cost for him to be named one, huh?”  
  
“What if he’s ugly?”

“I bet he is!”

“What a joke!”

It felt as if the combined laughter of a hundred men met Yuuri’s ears.

A shell he had been idly playing with snapped between his palms.

The present halted—then rushed forward, to make up for lost time. He was on his feet: over the shouji, past the walls, through the doors. Colors bled and ran around him, keeping pace. Winter frost scratched and bit from where he shed his kimono like skins: one pink, one blue, one green, one yellow. And high above, a moon loomed in the sky, ever-present.

He tore his way through the town, then the forest. Branches reached for him, tripped him up. He tumbled down a hill—losing another layer—but was hardly hindered, footfalls coming fast and hard, his pulse pounding in his head.

The village approached: a blurred apparition, on the horizon. The trees grew sparse, then absent. In what Yuuri knew to be a meadow—now blanketed with snow—he felt himself finally begin to slow, to sway. He fell to the ground, lying as though to sleep.

 _I’ve been here before._

This landscape, this white, wide wasteland… Even now, bloodied and bedraggled, it was burned into Yuuri’s memory from a whole other life, from a time long ago.

Slowly, he staggered up. He wandered, phantom-like, through the roads and along the paths he once knew, trying to pick out a familiar face, a friendly companion. But all he managed to find was an old hermit who was quick to inform him that the villagers had all moved along—to greener pasture—when the trees had begun to die off some time ago.

“Will they come back?”

The old man eyed him warily. “The trees or the people?”

Yuuri pulled at a shredded sleeve. “I don’t know. Both? Neither?”

“Sure.” The man shrugged. “These things come in seasons.”

“Yes…” Yuuri looked up to the stars, inching across the sky. “They sure do.”

Before he knew it, he was back in the palace—back to sleeping upon the tatami, shrouded by bamboo. If anyone had taken notice of his absence, none seemed too keen to report it. So he didn’t bring attention to it either and simply went on idling away his time, until the interminable banquet at last came to an end.

Despite his parents’ best efforts, word of him inevitably got out. Suitors from far and wide showed up at the Katsukis’ doorstep, demanding at least a glimpse at the fabled prince. Yuuri didn’t pay them any mind, of course—unless they were persistent, and even then he only gave them impossible tasks to complete in order to impress him: plucking a scale off the back of a dragon, stealing the fur off a fire rat, scaling the highest mountain in the land to find a ornamental branch. Some suitors faked the completions of these tasks, which were easily found out. Others went on journeys, never to return. One was even rumored to have gone mad, battered to and fro by the unrelenting waves of the sea while on his quest. Meanwhile, Yuuri merely whittled away at his garden, finely honed the skills of his craft.

Until, one day, he attracted the attention of someone he couldn’t afford to ignore.

“What beautiful dancing.”

Yuuri had been caught unawares—a rarity, for him. He turned slowly, fully prepared to berate this stranger for his intrusion. “Thank you, but—"

The words died on his lips.

“Your Majesty—”  
  
“Please, there’s no need for that.” The emperor stalked forward, taking one of Yuuri’s hands, proprietary, in his grip. “I can see now you’re more than worthy to be the spouse of an emperor. You’ll come back to the palace with me at once—be given all the luxuries you could ever want, in exchange for your place in my bed.”

“N-no, that’s—” Yuuri tried, futilely, to pull out of the emperor’s hold. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want—”  
  
“I wasn’t asking.”

The emperor then had him in his arms—Yuuri’s back to his chest, his breath hot and wet on Yuuri’s neck—and a scream stalled in Yuuri’s throat: the cry for a lover who once held him soft, not rough like this vicious beast.

_Victor, help me!_

All at once, the emperor was merely holding air, Yuuri vanishing from his arms like a mere trick of the light.

His eyes darted around, frantic. “Prince Yuuri?” He upended a table, tore paper from its shouji screens. “Prince Yuuri, where have you gone?” He stormed through the next chamber over and the one after that, trying to work out what force of magic could have spirited away the object of his desire.

“Come out, Prince Yuuri,” he said again—to an empty room—when he’d grown tired of the charade. “I promise I won’t pursue you any longer.”

“ _Is that so?_ ”

The emperor spun around, trying to follow the voice to its source. “Yes. Just show yourself.”

Yuuri stepped out into the moonlight, skin pale, almost translucent; his footsteps didn’t make a sound. “I have done as you asked. Now leave me be."

And wisely, the emperor did, knowing well when he was bested. “As you wish.”

Yuuri’s eyes followed him and his entourage out—through the courtyard, disappearing behind the double-doors—before he allowed himself to fall to his knees, wrap his arms around himself with a wracking sob.

“Oh, Victor… Oh, _Victor_ —”  
  
How could he have _forgotten_?

“Yuuri…?”

“Okaa-san?”

His mother entered, father and sister not far behind. They held him like a child—like the child he had been, not long ago.

“I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_ —”  
  
“Yuuri?”

“I must go away.”  
  
“Wha—?”

“I remember everything now.” He pushed away from his parents and sister, to better look at them. “Victor, my love, my life… Leader of the moon kingdom. My selfish wish to know this place brought me here, but I’m only half complete until I return to him.”

A single tear slid down his mother’s cheek. “Must you leave so soon?”

“If you don’t want to go,” his father started, “I won’t allow it—”

“No, I want to go to him. He’s already on his way.”

As though the very words summoned him, the light of the garden turned a pale white, the sound of crystalline bells and the twittering of nightingales piercing the air. A soft humming song accompanied, in a language no one but Yuuri knew.

Abruptly, he stood, wiping his face of tears. “Goodbye, my family,” he said, holding each of their hands. “Know that I loved you—and will love you still.”

Familiars of his celestial husband—snow-white rabbits, young maidens with eyes that sparkled like diamonds—led him away, clad him in the robes of his kinsmen. The garments returned his powers to their fullest extent, and with one small leap, he was far above the palace, through the clouds and before a man who was holding his arms out wide open for him.

“ _Victor!_ ”

“ _Yuuri_.”

He was smothered in kisses, caressed and held close. Yuuri ran his fingers through the long tresses of Victor’s hair—white as the moon—just to feel him, just to prove he was real.

“Oh, my dear,” Victor sighed, and there was no space between them, “you’ve had a difficult time of it, haven’t you?”

Yuuri shook his head in Victor’s hold, even as his eyes began to well. “No. I just learned to love you even more.”

And with that, the dark side of the moon returned home.

**Author's Note:**

> <3
> 
> (Oh, and if you're curious, this is where I started having Yuuri and Victor call each other "starlight" and "moonlight," which I integrated into my elven AU later.)


End file.
